


Keelhaul

by twofoldAxiom



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pirates and Privateers, Background Het, Background Marquise Spinneret Mindfang, Background Relationships, Biting, Blood, Bloodplay, Breathplay, Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Knifeplay, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Sex Positions, POV Multiple, Tags May Change, Tranquilizers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 02:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20323396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofoldAxiom/pseuds/twofoldAxiom
Summary: The Orphaner Dualscar is captured by an enigmatic pirate captain who is decidedlynotthe Marquise Spinneret Mindfang.This may actually be an improvement.





	Keelhaul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cervineghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cervineghost/gifts).

> Gift for CervinePrince/Cervineghost! I hope you like it, I'm sorry I took so long. ;w; It ended up being a lot longer than 2k so I decided you shouldn't have to pay for it.
> 
> If I miss anything, please tell me and I'll tag it!
> 
> Also I just realized this is my second work where Cronus (though this time Alternian Cronus) gets knocked out at the end of the fic before a POV change. He doesn't die this time, though.

Things come very slowly to you in the time between your eyelids closing and then opening to the blurry dark. You know you are the Orphaner Dualscar, Captain of the Sadalmelik, the official caretaker of Her Imperious Condescension's lusus. You know your ship has been captured in an ambush that you should have been prepared for, and you know why.

Blood stains your lower lip and leaks into your left eye, the blind one so it doesn’t really matter besides making it itch, tacky and annoying. Your hands are shackled above you, and a twitch of them tells you your fingers are only just beginning to go numb, so you haven’t been down here long. Your feet don’t touch the floor, and being that you’re a fairly tall troll, this doesn’t bode well. There's no gentle sway of waves either, and even with your sensitive hearing, there's no sound of water nearby.

A seadweller on land. Definitely not a good sign. You're stripped to the waist and your boots are missing. You assume whoever brought you here is going through your things for whatever they can sell off. They even took your _rings._

The next thing you notice is that you're not alone, too. When your good eye refocuses in the dark- and it does so quickly enough at least, so you haven't been too thoroughly maimed- you see someone seated across from you on a crate. You bristle with recognition.

Captain Ambrose Strider's expression is disturbingly still for a human with a troll tied up in their presence. He doesn't even look at you, but when you peer closer at him, he speaks. "And a good morning to you, Captain Ampora; glad to know I didn't knock you around too hard when I went for the head. Sleep well?"

"I'm not playing your game, Strider; where are we and what do you want?" Your left earfin twitches with irritation as you watch him stand; when he walks towards you, it's in long, languorous strides, sure of himself and how safe he must be with you shackled to the ceiling. His expression doesn't change in the slightest, but his eerily golden eyes wander over you, lingering on scars and cords of muscle. You growl. "Eyes up here when I'm talking to you. You haven't answered me."

"And you're in no position to be making demands." His voice appears in your ear, and you actually jerk your head back to snap your teeth at his face. But when you try, your teeth catch at nothing but empty air. He's standing directly in front of you again, just out of reach. Seeing your confusion seems to be what he wanted; he smiles, and you want to tear his face off even more.

"What the fuck was that?" You sneer, before the realization comes to you and you smile back, more of a grimace than a grin. "Wasn't aware humans had psionics of their own. Let me be the first to tell you that you won't be getting anything out of me with _those_ kinds of tricks."

"And I won't be using them." He answers back. "Let's just say none of this is, technically, on official record."

You narrow your eyes as he comes in close again, closer than anyone in their right mind would come to a cornered troll, much less a seadweller. He presses himself flush against you, shameless in his sureness, walking two fingers up your chest. "Think of this as an interlude, Orphaner. You're the Orphaner and a privateer, I'm a human pirate. You're familiar enough with blackrom with your other pirate fling, right?"

You can feel his breath on your mouth. His intentions boil something dark and hungry in your guts.

"You've got to be joking." And it sounds like he's joking until he reaches between your legs and cups a hand over your bulge, his fingers behind your shameglobes in a way that makes you almost worry. You growl at him. "Unhand me right this instant. I've got better things to be doing than playing some delusional human's sick sex games."

He doesn't even have the decency to look taken aback. He smirks at you, maddening in how careless, how cocksure he is. The fact that he can afford to be is probably what drives you craziest of all.

"I'll make this short, then." He says, before he has his hand around your throat and his lips on your mouth. His teeth are all too human, blunt and useless for cutting through troll skin, even the thinner skin of your mouth, but he's nipping hard enough to bruise and despite yourself you moan.

It's been too long since someone touched you like this. Since you felt this kind of ardor, even from someone like Mindfang, and this is nothing like kissing Mindfang. You're not a fan of the circumstances or the bugshit mind games he might be playing, but your body responds like this is something real all the same. As far as your body is concerned, this is _entirely_ too real; your nook slicks up and your bulge slithers out of its sheathe, pressing against the front of your trousers and trying to squirm out of them like it has any chance to.

You hear laughter and growl. He dares to laugh at you, especially at a time like this? You lean into the kiss and bite him back. Your teeth are still sharp even at your age, and you relish in hearing him gasp and tasting the blood that spills across your tongue.

He pulls away from you to feel the wound. There's a lot more blood than you expected, or maybe you're still shocked by the color. Human blood is thinner than troll blood, for one thing; makes more of a mess even in small amounts, and always in that stark, lurid red. When he smiles, it stains his teeth in a way that could almost look dangerous.

"Feisty." He purrs. "I like it."

You're about to tell him where he can stuff it, but he leans in and he has his teeth at your throat, blunt but surprisingly long canines pressed to your skin while he nudges his knee between your thighs. You're hanging high up enough that you can't help but hang against him, let him raise his leg enough that he's got his thigh pressed up against your nook, your writhing bulge. He sucks against your skin.

"Maybe you can show me a little more of that, come on, gimme some _fire_, babe." He murmurs into your skin, and his hands wander down to the slits of your gills. His fingers are careful, but they press uncomfortably against the ridges and filaments, digging under the flesh in a way that's sickeningly intimate and visceral, like having fingers down your throat. You hiss- your gills try to shut around his fingers, and that only pinches them deeper in. You groan and try to breathe. Your bulge curls, and you're pretty sure he can _definitely_ feel it, because he chuckles again and nips at your earfin.

"So quiet all of a sudden." He purrs, and grinds against you. You can't help but moan again, and more than that, you can't help the flare of burning, black loathing in your guts. It wells in you, poisonous, thrilling, as he smiles at you with his insultingly even teeth. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"I'd give you a piece of my mind, but I'm tied up and you're cheap." You spit in his face, and revel in the shock in his eyes when you take the second he reels back as a chance to… well, all you can really do at this range is rattle the chains menacingly, and _you_ think that's all kinds of pathetic. It's a bit of a mood-killer, that.

So you're surprised, but not _too_ surprised, when he moves away from you, towards a jut in the wall, and decides to pull a switch from somewhere you can't see. The manacles around your wrists drop you so suddenly that you hardly have the time to catch yourself. You didn't live to become Orphaner without developing a decent reaction time, though; you _do_ catch yourself, and throw yourself forward for good measure to attack him.

Only, he's faster than you'd give any normal human credit for, to the point that you have to remind yourself _ah, yes, potentially psionic bullshit, how could I forget_. For a second, you think to yourself he's disappeared while he was doing whatever it was with the restraints that let you down, and you being the reasonable troll you are, you try to make a break for it. You don't even care that you're half-dressed and unarmed; without him in the way, a crew of humans won't stand a chance against you.

It turns out he's put shackles around your ankles, too, when you somehow hadn't noticed. You fall flat on your face, and when you try to get up, you feel a knife to the back of your neck.

"Leaving so soon?" He trails it along the gills on either side of your throat and you curse under your breath. It's wickedly sharp, and out of the corner of your eye, you see it gleam. It isn't worth the risk while he's quite literally on your back, and you shiver when you feel him straddle your hips and realize, of course, the sick bastard is hard.

Not that you're much better. That wiggly you're sporting doesn't seem to be particularly dissuaded by the fact that he's human and you didn't want in on this in the first place, and you know- loathe as you are to admit it- that were the roles reversed, you'd want him moaning and cursing under _you_.

As it is, you hold very, very still when you feel a second knife that he's taken from somewhere you can't see, the edge tickling along your skin. He presses it a little harder against you when you flinch away from it, but not so hard as to actually cut you, though you have no doubts that even with seadweller skin like yours, that thing could slice right through you. Warmth pools in your face when you feel it resting against the edge of your pants.

"You wouldn't." You hiss through your teeth. Would he, though? Evidently he would.

He moves wordlessly, but you hear a rip and feel cool air on your ass and upper thighs. He's still got the other knife against your neck so you don't really want to turn your head and find out what state you're in right now, but you can tell he appreciates the view, because you hear the other knife put down and you feel him gripping your left butt-cheek with a hum of approval.

_This is your chance._ You should grab the knife and fight your way out of this, but you hold still and try to get your bearings while he's busy. You give yourself five seconds to think about it… and then another five… and then at the fifteen second mark, you realize you're frozen while he pats you on the ass, literally, and once you notice, so does he.

The knife, before you can really register it, is back in his hand, and this time the curved blade is pressed right under your throat. He's got his entire weight over your back, surprisingly dense and muscled for a human, and you can feel the hard jut of his cock against your ass, just barely grazing the seam of your nook.

It's one of those moments where you really have to consider, as a person, where your priorities lie.

... You quickly decide that they lie between your legs, much like you hope he will in a moment or so. Unfortunately, he doesn't; instead, he traces the point of the knife along your jaw, toying with you. You growl.

"Easy, tiger. You know what a tiger is, right?" You're starting to suspect he's holding off because he can't keep up with his own arrogance, and you're about to say so when he parts your legs with a deft shift of the knees. He's still got the knife under your jaw; you could throw him off, if you wanted, but the way the blade is hooked right there, right against the side of your neck, certainly makes your reconsider. You can feel the point, reminding you how close it is and how you really don't want that thing splitting through any part of you.

Still, you can't let this be entirely one-sided. Where's the fun in that?

"You're being _careful _now, Strider?" You mutter, trying to turn your head to protect your throat and face him at the same time. "What's your game?"

"Thought I was making it obvious." He mouths at one of your earfins, grinds against the seam of your nook without pushing in, but he parts the folds slightly with the head, strikingly hot against your insides to the point that you feel a trickle of sweat down the side of your face.

"The game is you, big guy. Always wanted to know what it was like to fuck a mermaid." He says, and shifts just so to push another couple inches in. 

You moan despite yourself, and the pitch burning in your belly roils harder. He's thicker than a troll, starting out, though you don't know what the rest of it is going to be like; he's also too rigid and blunt inside you, entirely the wrong shape for finding the right places to go and unbending your insides uncomfortably. 

It still leaves you panting. Your toes curl, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the rough grained wood beneath you. He mouths at your neck while still holding the knife to your throat, but the flat side of the blade is pressed to your skin now, just holding you in place (like how you wish his hand would instead.) 

It's slightly warm, presumably from his body heat. You're a little too distracted by him pushing deeper into you to pay much attention to that, though; or really, pay much attention to anything else. Turns out there isn't much variation in the size of a human's cock, but there _is_ that unforgiving stiffness, and he doesn't make room for you to resist.

He pulls your head back by the horn, growling right against the side of your face, "That's right, hot stuff, moan for me." It's such a darkly satisfying noise that you _do_ moan, louder this time, and you even push your hips back against his cock. He makes a pleased noise against your earfin and _bites._

Even with such blunt teeth, there's enough pressure, enough of your fin bent out of shape, that your whole world lights up with sensation, the kind where you can't tell between pleasure or pain and only know that it's too much. Your vision whites out as he pulls, and your head rings with it, you want to buck him off but you don't want him to tear the membrane any more than it's probably already been torn. Something wet slides down your cheek, presumably blood.

Sweat drips off your brow, tastes of salt on the curve of your upper lip. He doesn't let go of your earfin as he fucks you; if anything, you can almost feel him crushing the delicate tines in his teeth. But you're not going down so easily, not like this, and when you feel him slacken his grip just so, you push back as hard as you can. The knife slides wetly out of his grip and you grab him before he can take it back, all your teeth bared and your sore fins flaring in his face as you back him up against a wall.

"Well," He pants, daring to look you in the eye even now. "I guess I should've been more carefu-"

You don't let him finish that, crushing his mouth against yours. Now that you're on your own legs, shaky as they might be, you're too hungry for more to let him go, or to play with him like he toyed with you. You drink in what you think is fear in that kiss, as his hands pull at your hair, as he tries to dig his blunt, useless claws into the bony covers of your gills. He shudders against you.

His cock is still hard. You grind eagerly against him, your bulge twisting around the heat of it, soaking it all in, guiding him lower so you can get the head wedged against the entrance to your nook again, and you stop kissing him just long enough to growl into his mouth.

"You'd damn well better make sure I come before you do." Your teeth catch his lip, skin breaking under the points; the taste of blood spreads across your tongue, a vivid reminder of how soft he is, how easily you could break him- and how you still shouldn't underestimate him. He still dares to smile at you as he licks the blood off your mouth and his, and presses a tender, almost chaste kiss to your cheek.

"What, and have you leave me high and dry? What'll you do otherwise, sugargrub?"

Gods high and _low_, he's loathesome.

You need more.

But you're not gonna get it like this. You don't feel too bad about throwing him around like he weighs nothing; he lets you, and you know you're just giving him what he wants anyway. You get him on the floor again, crowding him into a corner sitting up so he can't flip you, and this time you close your hands around his throat for good measure as you lower yourself onto his cock.

"Oh, that's what I'm talkin' about..." He sighs. 

You get the distinct impression he'd put his hands behind his head if he were in any other situation and it makes you downright livid. 

He rolls his hips up lazily, grabbing hold of your hips when you try to ease your way down and he just _shoves_ you down onto the unforgiving girth of him, makes your nook clench up while you _gasp _like some common mouthbreather whore, and your body doesn't even care because you feel a rumbling, hungry chirr deep in your chest, subsonic vocalizations, the kind you'd be making if you did this underwater like you're supposed to. Your nook ripples around his cock and he makes a choked sound in the back of his throat, eyes shut, mouth open, and you only dimly register that it's because you're strangling him, not because he's getting into it.

But maybe he is, because you feel a bloom of heat deep inside you, sucked up into wherever your body stores material before you throw it in a bucket. You're not even close to finished.

You snarl in his face, thrilled to see he's not so smug anymore, cheeks flushed with exertion, eyes slightly watery and glazed. You can feel his pulse hammering under your thumbs.

"I'm going to show you dry alright. I'm going to wring every drop out of your puny body I can."

He gulps when you kiss him, and you swallow up his moans when you start riding him properly, the sound of skin slapping on skin, the wetness spreading between your thighs. His cock is still unforgiving inside you, and your bulge keeps trying to wrap around it like it might do for a troll, but it's good, you manage to make it good, even as he claws up your back, even as he pulls on your hair.

He comes again, spurring you onwards. You think you might hear a whimper, but you don't care, you're too lost in the feeling of this, too lost in turning the tables on him; shows him right for trying to one-up you like he did. 

Some predatory part of you wants to feel his pulse flutter away under your hands, and you could, you really could, but... no.

A greater part of you wants to relish in seeing him know you're better than him, and you're not going to get that if he dies.

You pump harder, though you loosen your hold around his throat and hear him gasp, and that's when the tightness in your gut finally gives and you come _hard. _You think you actually lose sense of where you are for a bit, your eyes unfocused, your head ringing with white noise; you tremble in his lap and distantly you think you feel him pulling you closer while you spill between the two of you, violet fluid making a mess of what remains of your clothes, and no bucket in sight to deal with it.

Not that it would've been viable with him in the first place. But there's something deliciously filthy about doing it like this either way.

You pant in his lap and try to get up, your legs shaking. For a moment you're disappointed when he doesn't cling to you, his arms sliding off you like wet paper. Have you actually killed him? You'll find out, you suppose.

But not right now. Right now you need to get out of here.

You make the mistake of turning your back to him.

"Not so fast, prettyboy."

You feel a vicious sting on your shoulder, and have just enough time to see the hollow needle he's jabbed into your flesh, the bulb he's squeezing, draining, into your blood. Your vision goes shaky, your fingers go numb. He smiles and it's the last thing you see before you float off into unconsciousness.

~!~

Your name is Ambrose Strider, captain of the Battleship Rear-ender (and good fucking God did you have to fight for that name, but it was completely worth it, absolutely perfect), and you've just bagged yourself a troll prince.

He's not going to wake up any time soon, if that tranq dosage has anything to say anything about it, so you set to cleaning up and stripping down, mopping up the nasty puddle of troll jizz slowly staining the hardwood floor. You don't think it's going to fully come out, but you can probably pay the innkeeper to turn a blind eye.

And the money is coming out of the Orphaner's wallet, so it's really no problem how much it'll cost. For now, you need to figure out how much an Orphaner costs the Alternian Empire, and how much of a ransom you can get for him.

You go to the trunk at the base of the bed and flip it open, put on a fresh change of clothes, and nudge the drooling, sleeping seatroll a couple times for good measure. When he doesn't rouse, but you still hear him breathing, you decide to leave him where he is because you're not about to figure out how to carry a man that heavy into a bed even if it's good manners. You're certain he'll figure out how to work a pillow without you.

You doff your hat to him, though he isn't awake to appreciate it, and swagger out of the room. Outside, it's completely silent, but only until you climb up from the lower stories and into the main cavern of Port Midnight. It reeks of fish, booze, and the dubiously reputable, but it's your favorite place to be when you're not out on the high seas.

Also, it's not on any of the Empire's maps. Unless the Orphaner feels like swimming all the way back to land, and you doubt even he could make it, you have all the time in the world.


End file.
